Deciphering Codes
by a red burn
Summary: They're pulling apart and coming together, again and again. CHAPTER 7 NOW UP!
1. One

Disclaimer: Not mine.  
Note: I adore Kensi so much that I'm surprised I'm writing this from Callen's point of view. It just came out that way. I know this chapter is short, but it's to the point. It's a... complicated romance in the works. They're complicated people with enough ghosts to make angst for a lifetime :)

Reviews would be beyond loved :)

_**1: after hours the ticking clock is ticking home.**_

He had been a little surprised to learn they weren't that different, after all.

Caring for someone was the oldest weakness the human being had the unfortune of possessing; it made you vulnerable to everything and everyone. The more you cared, the less your life was your own. They had both learned that the hardest possible way.

The lights had been dim, almost too weak for the moonlight filtering through the high windows, but it had been still too bright, enough to feel exposed even in the silence of an empty late night office building.

The green bobble head doll was still on the empty desk; a warning sign of their mistake. He didn't know if the doll had been kept there as a reminder of a life they lost, or simply to torture them all; no matter the reason nobody had the courage of taking it away, maybe give it a home next to Kensi's trash bag full of her useless belongings.

It was a funny thing, how after everything that happened, of so many facts more important than that, he still remembered Kensi gingerly picking up the doll from the desk and holding it to her chest, closing her eyes as if to remember its owner, the innocence of a man still too young to be there.

Or the way the doll had dug into her back, and how she had flinched, laughing, even under the circumstances, as she reached back to push it out of the couch as she laid back. Thinking about it now, maybe it had been a warning; like the doll staring at them day after day from the desk, maybe it had been Dom's way of saying '_Don't_'.

Maybe he should have paid better attention. But then, her skin had been too warm and soft against his touch, and the way she had wriggled under him to remove her pants had been a little too much for his brain. It had been a little too hard to think when her fingertips marked her way up his back and her lips refused to leave his. If he had to be honest, he'd admit that, in the heat of the moment, he hadn't wanted to think at all; just feel.

It hadn't been all entirely his fault, though. He may had started it, but she didn't stop, she never as much as protested. It takes two to dance, wasn't it how the saying went? The second kiss had been hers.

Maybe if he hadn't sat next to her on the couch he often claimed as his bed when Hetty didn't argue he find somewhere else to stay for the night (more preferably a place of his own), and hadn't tried to give Kensi the comfort she needed so desperately, things wouldn't have happened the way it did.

She had been seating there, hurting and vulnerable and he had taken advantage of it, in some way. But she had smiled at him; she had been in his arms, snuggling into his side as if she had always belonged there, smiling up at him with those big unmatching eyes of hers, so he had done the only thing he could think of: he leaned down and kissed her.

The kiss had been neither gentle nor deep; only long enough not to be mistaken for the wrong intention. When he pulled back, she moved forward; it had been the wrong direction, but he hadn't complained.

Maybe if she had slapped him, or yelled at him, or maybe if she had been so furious to just up and leave him altogether he wouldn't have had pushed her down onto the couch, tugging at her clothes, and she wouldn't have giggled when the bobble head dug into her back, and _it_ wouldn't have happened.

_Maybe, maybe, maybe_. He may try to look at every possible scenario, everything they could have done differently, all the things they could have said to change the outcome of things, but the fact was: nothing at all would change now what happened.

And the fact was simple: they had had sex on the couch, right there in the NCIS office, exposed to anyone that would have come in, and she had left afterwards; pulled on her clothes and left in utter silence, maybe too exhausted to say anything, or maybe just lacked the right words.

He had learned three things about Kensi Blye during the encounter that felt more like an old film noir: she giggled in bed, she was ticklish in funny places, and sex with her was extraordinary.

Tbc.


	2. Two

Note: Unbeta-ed for the time being. I have 3 more chapters done.

Thanks for all the reviews and alerts :) 3

_**2: In the world of faded memories**_

A week later and he still had marks that needed covering.

As strange as it was to think about it now, the first day afterwards hadn t been as awkward as he had expected it to be; a dead marine had kept them apart most of the time and when it didn t words were few and far in between, and there had been knowing looks shared that the rest of the team seemingly missed, and a warm sensation in his gut he had associated with guilty pleasure.

He hadn t sat on the couch for days and he couldn t remember Kensi sprawled out on it either, as she so often was. Maybe the memories had been too raw for her like they had been to him.

The bobble head on Dom s desk seemed to glare at him every time his eyes had fallen on the doll; it was a little surreal a dead colleague s juvenile toy could chastise him like his mother would have done had he known her and for the first time the presence of the green head had made him fidgety.

The day had already been hard on its own without the help of an angry doll or the sight of Kensi; it had only become worse when someone insisted in sitting on the couch and made him remember yet again the things he had done. Everything made him drift back to the previous night; she had felt good straddling his lap and kissing him in a way nobody had ever done and if he had to pretend the mistake never happened he wouldn t want to forget the way her skin had felt under his fingers and the little noises she made and the way her perfume was intoxicating.

Sometimes he would brush a finger across little marks on his arms; scratch marks, red and thick, where she had dug her nails deeper and deeper with each thrust, a proof of how intimate it had been, fading within days, quicker than the marks on his neck; and would wish they would just go away already.

Sometimes he had wished they _wouldn't_ disappear; an eternal reminder of what they had done, an eternal torture of what would never happen again.

She had been joking a little too much, enough for Eric to comment on her love life; Callen knew the behavior hadn t been because she was happy, but an attempt to fill the voids, to make up for something, with what she knew best: to be young and extroverted. She had always been a feisty one.

There were times he had felt she wanted to say something but didn t know how to get the words out (or even if she had the right words to say); he had been too much of a coward to approach her, so the talk had been avoided at maximum. If forced to, he d admit that it had been more to do with the fact he wanted to sleep with her again than lack of words; he had watched enough movies to know how the scene would go.

Maybe it had been for the best, maybe if they just pretended it never happened, it would finally go away; disappear into the back of their minds like faded childhood memories. Maybe they would even be able to joke about it later in life.

By the end of the week they had been more or less back to their natural syncrony; at least he had thought so during the few moments they had spent together (but never alone). Their partnership was smooth as always, so it should be all that mattered.

The roablock had hit the following tuesday, exactly a week later. In an attempt at another bonding session, Hetty suggested karaoke night again the following night, and while everybody jumped right in, Kensi had protested a little too much; not even her charm was able to get her out of it. Uncharacteristically, she had sulked two days straight and tried to come up with reasons she couldn't go, none of which had worked.

Callen had started to feel he was the reason she didn't want to go and felt slightly uncomfortable everytime someone mentioned their group date.

It had been almost as if she knew how the night would end and was trying to prevent it from happening.

tbc.


	3. Three

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, and please keep them coming! :)**

_**3: You left something undone, it's now your rerun**_

He had forgotten how it felt to use the backseat of a car for something else other than riding.

The windows had become blurred with the warmth of their breathing; the chilly night air outside a rarity in California at this time of the year. Maybe it had been another sign he hadn't paid attention to, and he wondered a little too late (while his hand gripped her hip as they moved together) if he should start listening to his head.

He had rules he tried to remind himself; rules and good sense he should start using, but then the little voice in his head had reminded him this wasn't dating and the pressure building inside reminded him why he was doing this again. He held on to her, his lips found her neck as her legs went rigid around him.

He had waited for her silence, another display of oblivion he would go along with (even though it wasn't right to do things this way), maybe even the conversation he didn't want to go through; what he certainly had not expected was her outburst, an aggressiveness he had never seen her directing at anyone but bad guys bigger than her. He had admitted it had been mostly his fault, and even though it was the smart and feisty Kensi, she was still a girl; a woman sleeping with her male co-worker. It was still serial dater Kensi, who never committed, who worked with him every single day.

He had been taken aback when she pulled her arm away from his grasp with such strength that made him raise his arms in a placating gesture. "Hey. Hey." He took a step back, showing her he never intended in doing her harm. "Just let me take you home, ok?" He was grateful the parking lot was empty at this hour; leaving nobody to witness the argument taking place.

He shivered when a cold draft went past him; his naked chest exposed to the night, not anymore exposed than she probably felt. He had watched her furiously search for her clothes and fight with her bra clasp after they were done and the wave had gone; when she had hastily pulled on her jeans without underwear he had realized the gravity of the situation. He pulled his own pants up in a hurry as she got out of the car without buttoning her shirt, but putting her jacket and zipping it up instead.

_"I'm going home,"_ she had said, embracing herself and he had felt a little pang in his chest, almost as if his heart had dropped an inch or two. It had only worsened when he had tried to take a hold of her arm to stop her from running from him and she had pulled it back as if badly burned.

Maybe they _had_ burned themselves, after all.

"I can take a cab."

"Please, Kensi, let me at least take you home. I can't let you go home on your own like this," he insisted, taking a tentative step towards her. She stopped, her back to him, her arms still crossed protectively in front of her, and seemed to consider it.

When she answered, her voice was exhausted, and sounded as if she was only agreeing to get home faster, "Fine."

He wondered when it was that everybody had suddenly left, leaving him and Kensi behind, as they lingered at the bar by themselves. A situation that should have never happened; he and Kensi alone was a dangerous thing and he had been well aware of that. Unfortunately, knowing it didn't stop him from drinking one beer too many, from letting her brush his hand and lean closer to breathe again his lips, smelling of beer and tequila and girly perfume, and slightly glazed eyes; he had never been on the receiving end of the Kensi charm (let alone a drunk one), and that night he learned the kind of power she had over men. By the time he realized what was happening (and that he should stop it immediately, though his body didn't obey his brain) his hands were already under her clothes, and her back was already pressed against the backseat of his car, and her lips were already doing their magic.

He wondered why the hell Sam hadn't stayed behind to get a ride home with him.

The ride to her apartment building had been silent and tense and every time he stopped for a red light he almost expected Kensi to jump out of the car and run. He had been playing it around in his head, the words he'd say in case that happened and when he pulled over on her street he was grateful she hadn't; he still didn't know what to say.

Instead of bolting for the door, Kensi stayed inside the car, frozen in her seat, and he started getting worried when no words were spoken. Had he ruined all the good things they were?

"So fucking stupid."

The words had been low, a breathy whisper as if she was just cursing herself, and he was taken slightly by surprise. "Kensi-"

"This didn't happen." She looked at him, tired eyes and messy hair and face crimson laced and he realized he liked the look on her; vulnerable and raw and real. "It didn't happen the first time and it didn't happen the second time."

"I know."

"It was a mistake."

"I know.

And he did. He was pretty certain there were rules somewhere against fraternization of this kind between co-workers, and if there weren't, then it was definitely frowned upon. He briefly wondered what Hetty's reaction would be if she ever came to find out, and cringed inwardly. As if their own rules hadn't been enough (which, clearly, they hadn't).

"It was a mistake," she repeated herself, her voice low again, and he had the suspicion she was trying to convince herself rather than him.

What else could be said? Let's just forget it? Let's pretend it never happened? Let's move on? Let's do it again, because, _God_, this has been the best sex I've had in years? While the first few could work, no matter how cliché they had sounded in his head, he had been pretty certain the latter would probably reward him a meeting with her fist.

The moment would have been a lot easier if he had known back then how the end would be.

"We'll do whatever you want, Kensi. Just tell me." And it had been true. . No matter how much it had pained him to say the words, afraid of her response (which, at the time, he hadn't been sure which one it was).

It had taken her a moment to reply, as if she had been still processing his words, thinking of the best scenario (or the one less problematic), "I want to forget it." There wasn't a lot of conviction in her voice, though.

"Okay."

The silence had stretched for minutes as they had both sat there; Callen had wished, not for the first time, he could just turn back time. Maybe he'd never know how it felt to have her underneath him, to touch her in ways most men wanted, to _know_ what she tasted like, to _know_ how her curves fit in his hands (perfectly). Maybe it would be better to forget. Just maybe...

"I'll see you tomorrow," she finally said, opening the door and stepping outside.

A gust of wind came through the crack and he shivered; the cold air made him wonder if she would forever associate the weather with what they had done; it made him pay attention to her every movement.

"Hey," he called back before she could close the door; she leaned down, bracing herself against the door and looked at him hesitantly. "We good?"

He saw relief fill her eyes, and she nodded, "Yeah, we're good."

The choice of words almost made him laugh, had they not been under the current problem; he hadn't meant to repeat the scene, but he figured their most recent fight was still fresh in his mind, even if he had more pressing matters to worry about at the moment.

tbc.


	4. Four

**Thanks you for all the alerts and reviews! Please, please, don't forget to review, that's the biggest payment a writer can get :D Make me happy :D**

_**4. Comedy of errors in the worst possible way.**_

"I slept with Kensi."

It had felt a little strange to say it aloud, as if it had been his greatest inner secret that he was finally revealing; but even as doubt poked him he had still felt the weight being lifted from his shoulders, the kind he figured criminals felt when finally admitting to guilt.

He hadn't meant to tell Sam, he hadn't meant to tell anyone, ever, but he had been giving him looks and pulling his chain, and sometimes just asking straight out what was up with him, until he finally started sulking like Kensi had done; annoyed that he was keeping something from him and Callen had wondered how much fault Sam had in this. Callen knew he hadn't been the most enjoyable person to be around these past few weeks so it was only natural his best friend would want to know what causing the change.

Sam's head had turned so fast to look at him that made Callen wonder if he'd be in pain later; then the look was gone and in a matter of a second he was laughing. "Right."

He sighed, regretting telling his friend; maybe he should have kept suffering alone; some secrets_ were _better kept to yourself. Especially if others didn't believe you. He had looked out of the car window gazing at the drizzle that had been falling for days now; gloomy and steady and irritating, a mirror of how his mood had been.

"Right?" Then his friend's brain finally seemed to catch up with the words that had been said, and decided to process them as real.

The silence that followed had been a little scary; Sam had never been known as one to shut up when needed, especially when it came down to Callen's life, so the lack of reaction had been a bit unsettling.

"You slept with Kensi." Apparently the information was something that had needed to sink in for a long moment.

Callen had shook his head; the words themselves had taken quite a lot of courage to be said, so he didn't turn to face his friend deciding to stare at the rain instead. They had been in the middle of a stake out and with their time almost up he had realized telling Sam had been the wrong choice. Kensi and the new temp would be coming within the hour and he didn't want a flabbergasted Sam to look at her as if she had grown two heads.

He had decided to remain quiet, to let the silence between them hang and twist and maybe make the moment just go away. He had done his part, he had told his best friend what had been pushing his feelings to the surface and making him grumpier than usual, more often than normal, and hoped that this would be finally over with; he had forgotten the part where Sam Hanna never let go.

"With _Kensi_-"

"I know, alright?" The tone of Sam's voice had been reproachful, like he had expected, but mostly there was a hint of disappointment somewhere in there, laced with surprise, and Callen wasn't sure what to make of it. Maybe Sam would need to let it sink in awhile more before finally getting to the logic and good sense and the fact Callen lacked both.

"Have you lost your mind?"

She had smelled like summer; her perfume woodsy and strong that reminded him of the backyard on a few of the houses he had stayed at as a kid. He could always feel the scent of the garden after the rain, the flowers and the grass seemed to come alive with the water and maybe that's what she really smelled like: life. Her skin had been soft and her body warm and her hands carried a gentle roughness from holding her gun one too many times and her hair had felt good falling on his face and the marks she left on his body had long faded and he hated that.

Maybe he had lost his mind, after all.

"Apparently," he had said exasperated more with himself and his inability to forget certain details about her, than with Sam's inevitable questioning.

"_When_ did that happen?"

He had shrugged, pretending to ignore minor details, when he knew very well when it had happened, down to the day, "About a month and a half ago."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now."

"Yeah, a month and a half later!"

"I wasn't going to tell you anything, but you were whining like a little girl and it was getting annoying, so be grateful."

Sam had made some gasping sound, his face twisting into an expression of utter dismay as if he had just been incredibly offended. Fortunately, Callen knew him for too many years to believe his acting. "Forget the Kings game next week. I'm so not taking you anymore."

That had done it. Callen had turned on his seat, his eyes widened in shock and he had almost sputtered in horror, "You wouldn't dare."

"If you keep offending me _and_ keeping things like _that_ from me, trust me when I say there will be no more games for you."

"You are unbelievable."

"And you don't have a brain. When I encourage you do date I don't mean Kensi."

Callen had crossed his arms, staring his friend down, while he had done the same; he hadn't bothered to point out he and Kensi _weren't_ dating. He hadn't worried about it at the time, but later he realized that the glaring match could have cost them their suspect; he had been so deep into wishing he could turn back time (all the way to the night he slept with Kensi for the first time and taking Sam's offer to crash at his place instead of turning it down), that he hadn't noticed Kensi arrived early.

The exchange had been a little awkward because of the conversation transpired in the car just before her arrival, but he had been glad it was finally over. Instead of being relieved to finally get it off his chest he had ended up more annoyed at himself. He knew he had screwed up, he knew he had been stupid and irresponsible and he really didn't need any one reminding him of that, but the worst part was that he hadn't learned from his mistake: he wanted her, and wanted her badly.

tbc.

**A/N 2: I'm going to have to change the rating to M for the next chapter (and later ones). There isn't anything graphic but I don't think it can be rated as T either. I'm just warning in advance in case anybody follows the fanfic via the site instead of alerts and the story suddenly disappears. You'll just have to change the rating search engine :)**


	5. Five

Note: From Kensi's pov. It was fun to write her.

_**5. On the road to who knows where.**_

Everyone she cared for left her in the end.

She had been panting, her red blouse unbuttoned, his hands sneaking up her back to unclasp her bra, her legs locked around his hips, when she had suddenly broken through the haze his hands and lips had created; a kick of the good sense she was supposed to have.

It had taken her a great deal of strength to put a hand on his chest and stop his ministrations and try to be the responsible adult she was. It had been a little hard to think when her mind was still fogged up and the heat between them was still thick.

"Stop." He had done so, and a part of her had regretted it (every muscle in her body clenching when he made a sound deep in his throat, rough, needy, when he pulled away), almost wishing he hadn't so when it came morning she'd have an excuse as to why it had happened (again) and she wouldn't really be the one to blame; she had tried to stop, he didn't.

Not that it mattered much because it had happened in the end anyway. It had happened and against her better judgment she had let it happen. She hadn't put an end to it, she hadn't said no. Just like last time; just like the first time.

His breath had been hot and in ragged puffs against her face and all she had wanted was to keep kissing him no matter how wrong and dumb it was. It felt _nice_, nicer than she had felt for a long time and she hadn't really wanted to stop, but she was a grown up and responsible and this was wrong in every possible way.

His hands had clenched at her sides, and she realized self control was fighting; he clearly hadn't wanted to stop either, but had listened to her silent, feeble request.

"What are we doing?"

"I think it's pretty clear what we're doing." There was a hint of humour in his voice as he tried to lighten the mood by being funny; she hadn't laughed.

"We can't." The words had been weak and lacked any conviction; they had sounded ridiculous even to her own ears.

"I know." He had agreed, but the look on his eyes had been anything but acquiescent, and the way his hands had gripped her hips and his thumbs had been brushing the skin right above the waistline of her jeans made her suspicious. "But I want to."

She remembered thinking it shouldn't be happening like this (but then she figured it shouldn't have happened at all), but any kind of protest had died on her lips. His words had rendered her speechless (like the buttons of her shirt and the belt she always wore had been rendered useless), and she had leaned forward, pressed her lips against his (the wrong decision, but she was starting to get used to those) and let things take their natural course.

She knew now how it felt to have him pressed on top of her, to have him throb inside of her, to have his lips feather kisses on every inch of her skin, his fingers brush against her breasts and inner tights and the back of her neck, into her hair. _This._ This was what she had missed all those days, all the weeks that passed lazily and torturingly between them; what she had caved and nothing she had tried had been able to substitute the way he made her feel.

The table in the boathouse hadn't been her preferred place for sex, but then again, the couch they used so often or the backseat of his car hadn't been either and at this point she didn't have the arguments anymore; she had a whole lot of excuses ready for use instead.

Like how her good sense had disappeared to the corners of her mind when she could feel his skin pulsating under her fingertips and the way his lips burned holes on her body and the way she had been locked between him and the edge of the table, the pressure between them short of maddening as he had made sure to pull her flush against every inch of him and the way his hands seemed to have just the right size to fit against every inch of her, and just how _good_ they felt.

She had known even then that this would be another breaking point for her eventually, a bad fall out to the both of them, headaches and heartaches; sleeping with her friend, her _co-worker _could never result in anything good, not when he was her best male friend, not when she was his favourite agent, not when everybody left her, not when they were both so deeply _damaged_.

Two wrongs didn't make a right that much she knew.

tbc.


	6. Six

A/N: I should update this with info from the newest episode, but it works better this way. Next chapter will definitely be up to date (there's a certain new change I want to add).

This chapter is the shortest one I think, the next will be considerably long.

Thank you all for the reviews and please keep them coming!

_**6. Making every possible mistake.**_

She had learned that yes was easier and meant less pain in the short term.

She had been fourteen the first time she came home with bloodshot eyes and her knuckles sore; she had punched a boy that had tried to kiss her without her permission and her Daddy had given a long speech about violence.

She had been fifteen when she learned that saying yes was much, _much_ nicer than saying no, and at sixteen there was no going back; there hadn't been much left for her anymore and the little she got she had long learned she wasn't meant to keep; her losses soon outnumbered everything else.

They had danced around the subject of 'them' in favor of murders and theories and evil ways of the world and what the next prank to Marty Deeks would be (because Callen and Sam refused to accept _the temp _as a new agent), and concerted dates for their sex encounters in a pretty executive manner, as if they were nothing more than business meetings. They happened mostly at her apartment since his sleeping places had alternated between the boathouse and the NCIS building and end up falling asleep on the couch was something she hadn't wanted to risk.

She had tried to convince herself many times that the only reason she had agreed to it was simply because the sex was too good to pass up (even though she was well aware it hadn't been the only reason), and every time he had her pressed between his body and another surface she was acutely reminded of her decision, though no the smartest, certainly the best while it worked. And every time she had questioned her choice her doubts would simply vanish like mist whenever she felt his lips against her skin.

It had been purely physical, no complications, no emotional attachments, no expectations, which meant no disappointments. And it had worked. She had to admit that she had had her fair share of men during her life, most of which had been long term relationships (once upon a time she hadn't been a girl afraid of commitments, but that time had come and gone), but this, whatever it was that was happening with Callen, was new to her. And, surprisingly, it had worked.

She had been _happy_ (what a foreign, bittersweet taste in her mouth).

At least for a while.

He had been quick to learn her body and what pleased her and the way his hands touched her felt so natural it sometimes made her wonder; too comfortable, _too right_. She should have paid better attention, thought about it, but she hadn't felt like that ever since her heart had been broken for the last time; beyond repair.

She had learned they weren't that different after all; dragging similar ghosts from their pasts made the talks about past romances nonexistent, and she had been fine with that, it was neither the time nor the person to discuss her love life with (with the exception of the never ending jokes about certain aspects of her dating routine), not to mention the fact that usually they were too busy to discuss anything.

She had, sometimes (regardless of how her arms and legs would go limp and her breath would catch in her throat with every touch of his) thought of the reasons she should end everything, of the words she would tell him had she ever had the chance to start the conversation, but she could never hold on to them long enough.

And sometimes she had tried to hate him for bringing these feelings to the surface, for knowing how to do just the right things, for just being _him: _the funny Callen, the sweet Callen, the worried Callen, the Callen with five bullet holes long healed leaving behind the scars she couldn't help but brush her fingers against every time he was in her bed; the Callen that insisted she was the favorite agent he ever had and whispered _her name_ every time.

But she could never hate him, so she had settled on hating herself instead.

Tbc.


	7. Seven

Hi, remember this fanfic? Yes, I'm continuing it! Lol Here's the next chapter, somewhat short, but I didn't want to go into mature land, it'd only force me to change the rating and hopefully this is still T rated.

Please, review it if you like. Reviews make me happy! And right now I'm so unhappy with the ways things are going on this show that fanfics and reviews are the only things left.

Other than that thank you for all the reviews and alerts I got!

This is unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine.

_**7. Can't quit a habit like you.**_

The mini dress she had been wearing barely covered anything.

He had become used to men turning their heads to give her a second look as she passed; she didn't have the stereotyped Hollywood beauty: skinny as hell, blond, baby blues, full lips, the extra bra size, but the looks of somebody who was born with confidence and natural beauty, who had the right curves in the right places in the right sizes, whose dark curly hair could look bad in some days and perfect in others, whose smile reached her eyes as easily and often as breathing; one eye black with a birthmark that was so uniquely hers, the other hazel on some days, and just as black as it twin in others (particularly when she was pissed off, or turned on, both of which he had been on the receiving end of quite a few times). And then there was the charm.

There was something about her that made people turn and look, that made people like her as if she had known them forever; that made men fall at her feet as if she was the woman right out of their fantasies, as if she was perfect in all her imperfections; a never ending siren's song calling to them.

He had tried to believe that it wasn't just her charm she was using on him, or that it was even the same charm she used on all men, that there was something special between them, that _it_ that made it different, unique; then he had cursed himself for thinking just that. Strangely enough, sex with Kensi made him think, even if it wasn't at the right moment (or even the right thing most of the time). As she straddled his lap her dress had hiked up almost to her waist and his hands sneaked under what was left of it, fingers finding the edge of her panties and tugging at them.

He had been included in the general male population that had to stop and stare, especially when she was wearing a little nothing like the one from that night, especially when he hadn't been alone in the car while they watched her every move, especially when he was starting to get used to having her body pressed against his.

She had tried to pull her dress over her head and the steering wheel had dug at her back, making her groan in frustration. "Too tight," she had said, but did nothing to move away; instead she had grabbed the front of his jeans, unbuckling his belt and giving up on doing anything else because there was no room to move and he had refused to stop kissing her just then.

He had learned the front of his car was a difficult place for sex and took a lot of flexibility to get the task done, but she had sat on the passenger seat all flushed cheeks and trembling hands and long legs and a dress that covered less than it showed; he had his hands on her and was pulling her towards him before he could realize what he was doing and she hadn't argued.

They were both too tense and the adrenaline of the job running fast in their blood streams.

The job was supposed to be simple: get in the club, identify the gang leader, interact, bring him out, make the arrest; except other than Kensi entering the club and identifying the man, everything had gone wrong.

The moment he heard bullet shots his heart had sunk and his breath had caught and even though Kensi was too good of an agent to get herself shot, there was still that bit of worry that kicked his ribs and squeezed his chest; there were always what ifs and possibilities and that small percentage that couldn't be ignored.

They had stormed in immediately, Deeks, Sam and Callen himself, guns ready but what they found was nothing but short of funny; even though the situation gave him an adrenaline high, it was only after he saw Kensi wiping her hair off her face safe and unscathed that he left relief wash over him and the situation sink in: there she was, in a dress so short he cringed every time she walked, holding her gun firmly in one hand, the two guys they were looking for shot dead, and she still looked perfect.

No matter how much he liked and respected Sam, there was a reason she was his favorite agent and she proved that time and again.

It was later in his car that he had realized how the situation had affected her, how scared she had been in that split second between their bullets and hers and that he hadn't been the only one in fear.

"I thought of you," she had said once they were in his car and the silence had stretched for some minutes. She had shrugged as if it wasn't anything really important, as if she was telling him about the weather. "When Cortez shot the first bullet and I was sure it would hit me square in the chest." She had been too close to Mario Cortez, drug leader and murderer, sitting by his side as he slid his hand up her leg, making the same journey he had done so many times. "I thought that it'd hurt like hell but at least we'd have matching scars."

He had to laugh at the absurdity of what she said, the absurdity of the thought she had just before she thought she'd be done for, then he had just grabbed her waist and pulled her towards him as he kissed her with a desperation he had never felt before.

The need was thick and strong and it blinded him to the situation and when she tugged at his jeans in frustration he had lifted, making her head bump against the ceiling of the car, and she giggled.

She _giggled_, and he groaned.

"You're being so unhelpful," she had said, the laughter on the corners of her mouth as she unbuttoned his shirt.

"Mmhmm, like you're really helping," he had said back, taking his lips away from the skin of her neck only long enough to utter the words, his hands sliding up her waist, brushing against her ribs until they finally found the cups that held her breasts in place under the strapless dress. It made her lose track of what she had been doing because her hands had stilled somewhere between his pants and underwear and her lips rested against his neck as she let out the tiniest of sounds and he smiled.

He tried to ignore the fact he was acting recklessly, that what he was doing would lead them down a destructive path, that if it didn't end right, it'd end in the worst possible kind of mess, resulting in him losing her forever, even as a friend. But she felt good, whatever they had felt good and no matter how wrong the whole thing was, there was one thing he couldn't ignore no matter how much he tried: he was happy for the first time in a long time.

Tbc.


End file.
